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“You calling me a liar?”

“You calling me a fool?” José shot back. “Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me because I’m young. This isn’t my first negotiation.”

It very much was his first negotiation.

But something in his tone or posture or facial expression must have done the trick, because Thiago grunted and produced an old leather scroll case. The tube was about a foot long, and every cell in José’s body ignited upon seeing it.

Finally.

He held his breath as Thiago opened the top and slid an old piece of paper onto the table. José stifled a wince as the man’s grimy, grubby fingers touched what he hoped was a priceless artifact. But when he moved to unravel it over a mystery puddle beside his drink, José shot out a hand.

“Wait!” he said, pulling nitrile gloves out of his back pocket. “If I may?”

He was shocked when Thiago agreed, passing him the paper.

This may be easier than I thought.

The man kept a firm hold on the upper edge as José unrolled it in his hands.

Maybe not.

Still, José was able to examine the map more closely. The paper crackled softly beneath his gloves. Discolored with age, the entire thing looked like it had been dunked in a saucer of tea. Faded ink curled across the surface like vines. He brought it closer to his face to see—there.

The geometric symbols he was searching for.

“Look real enough?” Thiago asked.

José nodded, not trusting that he could keep the excitement from his voice.

“Good.” Thiago pulled it back, and José reluctantly released his hold to avoid tearing the map. He watched as the older man rolled the paper back up and returned it to the leather tube. Then he extended his hand. “Money.”

“Por supuesto,” José repeated with his most winning smile. He peeled off his gloves slowly, working out his next move. He only had one shot at this. He reached inside his jacket for a thick envelope—stuffed with newspaper clippings—and moved to hand it over.

In the process, he “accidentally” knocked over the bottle of pisco. It clanked against the wood as cheap liquor splashed all over Thiago. He recoiled instinctively.

It was enough. José leaped into action, shoving the table into the older man’s gut. Glass shattered against the floor as Thiago grunted, doubling over. With a spin, José grasped the strap of the leather carrier that contained the map, twisting so it slid off the man’s arm.

Aha!

Except it didn’t come free. Thiago grasped it with two fingers, pulling hard as he righted himself. José stumbled, close enough that Thiago exchanged his grip on the strap to grab a fistful of his jacket instead.

“You little…” he growled, and José smelled the nauseating blend of alcohol and tobacco on his breath.

He dropped like a sack of potatoes, throwing his arms up and wiggling out of his jacket as he did. He’d stained it anyway.

Startled by the rapid motion, Thiago pitched forward. José took advantage of his unsteady gait to peel the scroll case away from him. He aimed a well-timed kick to the man’s side, and Thiago completed his descent to the ramshackle floor.

The bartender was yelling some truly creative profanities as José sprinted for the entrance.

I’ll have to remember that one, he thought, impressed.

Elation coursed through his veins, more intoxicating than the pisco. He had the map! Now all he needed was to reach the boat, and he’d be out of here before anyone knew what hit them. It was exactly how he had imagined; some sweet-talking, some charm. A little sleight of hand, a fight, and then a daring escape.

A laugh bubbled out of his chest as he flew toward the door.

Only to slam his shin hard against a stool.

An undignified yelp escaped him as he tumbled forward, kicking up a great cloud of dirt as he landed outside the bar in a crumpled heap.